A Knot In The Pattern
by TheLastChronicler
Summary: AU. At thirteen years of age Rand al'Thor, the unknowing Dragon Reborn, is taken and gentled by the Aes Sedai. Yet even stripped of his ability to channel the One Power, the Pattern demands a Dragon, and it will have one.
1. The Point of Divergence

**A/N:** _The following story is an exploration of the amazing world created by Robert Jordan, may he shelter in the palm of the Creator's hand, and the last embrace of the mother welcome him home. It is a poor tribute to him, and to Brandon Sanderson, who did an amazing job writing 'The Gathering Storm'. I own nothing. This fanfic itself was inspired by Shezza88's 'Altered Destiny' and the portal stone scene in The Great Hunt, where Rand lives many different lives._

_This fic was uploaded about a year ago, and then later taken down. So if it seems familiar, there you go._

* * *

The Wheel of Time turns, and Ages come and pass, leaving memories that become legend. Legend fades to myth, and even myth is long forgotten when the Age that gave it birth comes again. In one Age, called the Third Age by some, an Age yet to come, an Age long past, a wind rose in the Mountains of Mist. The wind was not the beginning. There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was _a_ beginning.

The wind breezed eastwards beyond the mountains, down into the rough land known as the Two Rivers, and through the small village known as Emond's Field. The air was warm, but not uncomfortably so; the wind caressed the skin and balanced out the temperature. Zephyrs lightly kissed the skin of the men and women it touched, a welcome thing on any day of hard work. And hard work it was. It was shearing day, one of no more than five days of the year that so many people of the village gathered: at Bel Tine, which was past; when the merchants came to buy the wool, still a month or more off-, when the merchants came for the harvest's tabac, after Sunday; at Foolday, in the fall; and at shearing, like today.

Of all five days, shearing was the busiest, at least in the sense that everyone was doing hard work. For example a feastday, such as Bel Tine, might be busy, though while some would work on such a day to prepare the festival, most others would be busy enjoying themselves.

That was not to say that Shearing day itself was a difficult or tedious affair of course, but the day's own merriment would be had later, once the important work was done and the tables for the feast were set. For now, the men, women and children all had their own jobs to do.

The women and many of the older girls prepared the tables for the feast that would be later had, and the children gathered water in buckets from the stream, and wandered the village offering the refreshments to the workers that needed it.

Half of the grown men stood knee-deep down river, washing the sheep in preparation for the shearing, while the other half carried the process out away from the river. Between the two groups, in the middle of a meadow, the boys aged twelve and older watched those sheep that had not yet been shorn, and those who had been finished with.

One of those boys stood at the front of the makeshift paddock, his light weight half resting on a small piece of wood he was using as a staff, as he had seen some of the men do, as he scanned the fields for any troublemakers. His name was Rand al'Thor. He was slightly taller than most of the other boys his age, hinting at a future formidable stature. With red hair and blue eyes, he stood out from most of the others. In the Two Rivers, people usually possessed dark hair and dark eyes, and anything different would be considered quite unusual. His mother had been an outlander though, which was quite unusual in itself. Few people ever left the Two Rivers, and yet his father had done so when he was a young man and brought back a wife.

At thirteen years of age, Rand was watching the sheep for the first time this year. It was an important thing, Rand thought, watching after the sheep. Sometimes they would get restless and try to roam, and with no grown-ups around it would be his and his friends' responsibility to stop them from getting away. And since sheep were such an important part of life, that surely meant that the boys who were looking after them were important too. The thought made him stand up straighter, proud to be helping out.

Behind him though, one of his friends grumbled about the heat, obviously not quite so proud. Though he was no younger than Rand, Matrim Cauthon seemed to thoroughly despise any position of seriousness. Rand knew he would much rather be in the village, trying to pilfer honeycakes and other sweets undetected than working hard, even on a day as important as shearing.

Finally, after yet another exasperated, he turned around "For Light's sake Mat, a couple hours of hard work won't kill you". His face narrowed in annoyance. Mat was one of his closest friends, but there were times when he could aggravate him.

Mat sullenly leaned on his own staff and wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Are you joking?" he panted "if it was any hotter I'd be walking around in my smallclothes".  
Rand felt his irritation war with a little amusement. Abruptly he clamped down on it. Shearing day was no time for jokes!

"All we have to do is stop the sheep from wandering away from the field" he pointed out "its important work, but it's not too hard, what else could you want?"  
Mat rolled his eyes "A drink of water would be a great start". Rand nearly groaned, even without checking Master al'Vere's clock in the village, he knew they couldn't have been working for more for than an hour or so.

He let out a sigh "You might as well go get one then". Mat gave him a sidelong, considering glance before nodding. "Won't be long" he said, and promptly turned away to stride off towards the village square. Rand would bet his best pair of boots that he wouldn't be back until he'd not only drank his fill, but also managed to steal or beg a pastry for himself. The thought soured his mood considerably.

He looked after his friend's receding form, wondering if he too should tempt fate. After a long moment he shook his head; he never did seem to have Mat's own luck when talking to women. Whether they were mothers or girls his own age, he'd likely ask for a honeycake and be dragged off to the Wisdom to be punished for avoiding his chores. Mat of course, would give a small smile and apologise almost tearfully, only to be reassured that no one was angry with him.

He grumbled, his prior good mood completely gone. Life was so unfair.

"Hello Rand" a quiet voice said, breaking into his thoughts. Rand blinked, and turned to the side. "Hello Perrin" he said, nodding a greeting. Perrin nodded in return, and Rand felt slightly comforted by the presence of his other close friend. They were both somewhat reserved at times, so they understood each other better than most of the children in the Two Rivers did.

Perrin Aybara was almost the opposite of Mat. He was big for their age and quiet. "I thought you were going to be spending the day with Master Luhhan" Rand said frowning. Perrin shrugged "He decided to help out with the shearing, and I'm not old enough to help him do that". Rand nodded. "Well" he began "it's good to see you, Mat ran off for a drink and probably won't be back until-" "All the work is done" Perrin finished. He grinned at Rand and waved his hands, as if to say 'What can you do?' Rand smiled back.

As the day dragged on the two boys sat down on the grass; the sheep seemed fairly docile today, and they had grown tired. Some of the other boys joined them, feeling just as weary. Soon they started discussing such things as what they hoped to buy from the peddler the next time he came to the village, or wondered aloud about what kinds of food would be at the feast. Rand was just about to tell Perrin why an apple-pie was better than the blueberry variety when they were interrupted.

"Hey Rand" Dannil Lewin called "did ya hear, you're going to have a new mother soon". Rand's mouth tightened. "What are you talking about?" he said, narrowing his eyes. Dannil just laughed. "Elam said so" he said with a smirk, nodding to his companion. Elam Dowtry blushed, he didn't like confrontations, and this was no exception. "Leave off Dannil" he said sullenly, "I was just repeating what my mother said".

Rand stepped forward, growing angrier by the moment. "What's this then?" he demanded loudly "what did she say?" Elam only hesitated.  
Dannil laughed again. "Apparently all the women in the village think that you and Tam need help looking after yourself" he said, laughing again "so they're trying to find Tam a new wife and a new mother for you".

Rand's fists tightened, and gritted his teeth. All of his life, he'd had to grow up without a mother, while every other boy and girl in Emond's Field his age had been lucky enough to have two parents. It had been very hard for him, and it was his only sore point. Normally people didn't bring it up, but he hated it when they did.

Perrin knew Rand well enough to know when he was angry, which didn't happen as often as most of the boys. That was another thing that they had in common. "Leave off Dannil" he said sharply "that isn't funny". Dannil spread his hands as if to say it had only been a joke, but the mirthful smile didn't leave his face.

Rand didn't care if it had only been a joke, Dannil might not know how much it hurt to have jokes made about the fact you don't have a mother, but that didn't change the fact that it still hurt. He stepped forward and curled his little hands into fists, as if he was going to thump him. Rand felt white-hot anger bubble up inside of him, and he lunged at Dannil, who hastily jumped backwards. Rand's fist missed him and he overbalanced, falling to the ground. Most of the other boys laughed, and when Rand looked up, he saw Dannil standing a couple paces back with crossed arms and a smug smile.

Rand gritted his teeth, humiliated and angry. He saw Dannil's lips move but he couldn't hear what he was saying over the blood pounding in his head.

He felt his skin prickle, and he imagined hitting Dannil hard enough to make him be quiet, be sorry. He imagined it in vengeful detail, knocking back the other boy and making him stop laughing. He could see it happening, and wanted it to happen. Almost in response, he felt something brush against his hand, like the breeze or a cobweb, but different. Without any thought to what he was doing, Rand pushed out his hand towards his tormentor.

Dannil, who was several paces away from him, should have been completely unaffected. Instead, he jerked as if struck and went tumbling backwards, turning an awkward backwards roll along the ground before landing in an awkward heap. There was an audible crack when he landed, and he screamed before fainting.

Rand's anger rapidly subsided, only to be quickly replaced by a sense of bewilderment. He dropped to one knee amidst the cries and gasps of the boys around him, dazed. His scalp felt as if it had been split open, as if he'd been hit on top of the head with a heavy club. After hearing a scream from behind him, he craned his neck to see a group of farmers throwing down their shearers and running towards him.

Rand shook his head, trying to understand what was happening. Dannil had just flown backwards. He hadn't even touched him! Beside him, Perrin stood as still as a statue, his skin pale and his mouth open. The rest of the boys ran in fear behind the men. Tam, Rand's father, was the first to approach.

Rand looked up at him, still in shock. Amidst the curses and frantically recited oaths of the other adults, he heard a single word. Tam fixed his worried eyes on his son and muttered, seeming to himself "channeling".

It was all too much for Rand; he felt himself grow faint and staggered towards his father. The last thing he saw was Tam leaping to catch him as he lost balance and fell forward, into blackness.

* * *

Rand struggled open his eyes. It was difficult, he was incredibly tired and his eyelids felt heavy. He fought for a moment, finally managing to crack them partway open. He saw blurry, distant figures; his father, Mayor Bran al'Vere and several other members of the village council. He vaguely thought he heard snatches of their conversation, but it could have just been his imagination.

"... broken arm, and some cracked ribs".

"...we do now?"

"The only thing we c-"

"He's my son Bran!"

"...ashes Tam, we all have children".

"But he-"

"... done is done, the messenger has already been sent".

Rand struggled to open his mouth, to ask what was done, but he couldn't move. He was just so tired. He finally shifted himself an inch to the side, but when his head moved he was struck by an intense dizziness, and fell back into the darkness.

* * *

He had strange dreams while he was sleeping. It was shaky, and he felt as if he was moving, even though he was lying down. He saw of a number of scowling women with red shawls and harsh faces. They looked down at him, muttering words he didn't understand and talking amongst themselves. It seemed as if they truly hated him, even though he didn't know any of them.

One of the women stood nearer than the others, and she kept touching him like he'd seen the Wisdom do sometimes to injured villagers, as if she thought he were sick. That seemed wrong to him somehow, if she was a wisdom and she thought he was sick, wouldn't she look concerned or busy? This woman looked almost _relieved_. He couldn't think, his head still hurt too much.

They kept poking him, and he flailed about, trying to knock them away. He tried to knock them back like he thought he did to Dannil, but he couldn't remember how and he was too sluggish. He was easily held down during the dreams, but he kept struggling.

He felt hot, as if he had a fever, but worse, almost like he was burning alive. Eventually they stopped prodding him, and after that he cooled down a little. Eventually he was terribly cold, shivering violently. If he had been in his right mind, that might have seemed strange, to be burning up and then becoming terribly cold so quickly, but he was dreaming, so what did it matter?

That wasn't the only dream he had. He had nightmares of dozens of strange terrifying creatures that walked upright like men, but had snarling animal heads and were covered in fur. They feasted together, fought each other, sometimes watched by a single man bundled up in a black cloak, sometimes not.

His vision went black, and he saw images flashing by; Perrin, Mat, Egwene, a girl he thought he liked, Nynaeve, the village Wisdom.

He saw flashes of his father's face, then his mother's, whom he only distantly remembered. Last of all was a beautiful woman with golden hair who he didn't recognise. She smiled at him sadly, unshed tears in her eyes.

Slowly, her face darkened and twisted, until it was a woman's no longer, but a strange man's in his prime. He wore dark clothes of the finest cut, and his eyes almost seemed to burn. His gaze met Rand's, and then his lip curled into a small smile.

Rand's heart thudded in his chest. He did not know how, but he knew this man was dangerous. He raised his hands fearfully and tried to step back, but then he found he was still held down, and could not move. The face loomed closer and darkness around them grew all the deeper. Then there was nothing.

* * *

Rand woke in a stone circular room, surrounded by women. He lay on a small cot and wore grey clothes that were not his own. He struggled for a moment to sit up, his limbs made stiff by inactivity. He stopped suddenly, confused. He didn't recognise this room. In all of Emond's field, no family had a room this large, and certainly not one made entirely out of stone. Two Rivers folk built their houses out of wood and thatched their roofs with straw. There was no family that could have afforded to have such a room built, and there was no one to build it even if they could.

"Where am I?" he asked cautiously. None of the women answered him. Some of them talked to each other, speaking in tones too quiet for him to hear. Others stared at him with undisguised interest. He started panicking, he didn't recognise any of them. Their faces were strange, seeming young and old at the same time. Of the women in the room, all but one wore the strange red shawls he had seen in his dreams draped over their shoulders. The last woman, who seemed quite young in comparison, wore green. Despite his growing fear, he wondered idly for a moment if the colours were some kind of uniform, like the green arm bands that the Taren Ferry patrols wore.

They all stared down at him, some looking puzzled, as if he were some mystery to be solved, and the effect was the most frightening thing he had ever seen. He'd faced down wolves before in order to protect the herd of sheep, albeit nervously, but these women scared him senseless.

"Where is my father?" he whispered, trying to control his voice. There was no answer. "Please" he said, tears blurring his eyes.

The woman in green spoke quietly to the figure next to her. "Is this really necessary?" she murmured. Her companion, a stout lady with dark hair that she wore in a bun, fidgeted irritably. "You are not a red Alanna, so I would not expect you to understand" she said tersely "If we wait, he only gains more time for his powers to grow stronger and more opportunities to hurt those around him".

She gazed down at Rand's tear-streaked face, and her expression softened for a moment. "We of the red do not gentle channelers because we enjoy it" she said quietly "we do so because we recognise the danger of the alternative".

Rand swallowed, they had not answered him, and they spoke almost as if he could not hear them. He didn't know what gentling was, or what channelers were, but they all talked softly and carefully, the same way the village Wisdom talked about a sick man who was going to die.

"I... I just want to go home" he said into the silence. "Please" Rand sobbed "I didn't know what I was doing, but I swear I'll never do it again".

The woman called Alanna bit her lip and shook her head. "I cannot watch this" she said, avoiding Rand's eyes. She strode from the room quickly, leaving him alone with the rest of them.

Rand swung his gaze to the other woman who had spoken. "Please" he begged again "I'll do whatever you want". She stared at him for a moment before sighing and shaking her head. "I am sorry child" she said "but there is nothing you can do".

"But I don't understand!" Rand wailed "what are you going to do to me?" The woman took a deep breath and did not answer him. She raised her head to see the other women, who waited patiently for her. "We shall begin" she commanded, absolute authority resonating in her voice "form a circle".

* * *

**A/N:** _Constructive criticism would be appreciated, but this story is an AU and will therefore deviate from the canon plotline. Comments regarding what should have happened (according to canon) will be ignored._


	2. Dealing with Shock

Rand sat on the bench, unmoving. His eyes gazed off into the distance, almost as if he was in deep thought. However, upon closer examination, a perceptive person might see the truth; there was no look of concentration on his face, no thoughtful frown or absently chewed lip. Just silence and motionless, and a perfectly expressionless face.

He'd been sitting in the middle of the garden now for a long time. An hour, two, three, he didn't know. It didn't matter.

It was a warm day, and there was no shade nearby. He'd have sunburn tomorrow, without doubt, but that didn't matter either. Sunburnt skin was only annoying because it was painful, but Rand didn't care about pain anymore. He wondered idly if he could even still feel it, before the thought slipped away.

It didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore.

* * *

"I want to see him" Tam said, nearly roaring now with frustration.

"I'm afraid that will have to wait a few more days Master al'Thor" Ananda Sedai said firmly "The gentling has already been performed, yes, but during it and immediately afterwards is a traumatic period. It's best the boy is not disturbed."

"He's my son" Tam managed through gritted teeth. He clenched his fists at his side, trying to stop them from reaching out and throttling the light-cursed woman.

"So you've already told me" the Aes Sedai said dryly. She seemed rather sympathetic to him, for the most part, but she had been charged with caring for Rand for the time being, and she didn't seem capable of budging where her patients' health was concerned. If it wasn't for the fact that it was those very same women who had hurt his son, he might have been grateful for that.

"I understand this is difficult for you" Ananda added "But the worst has passed, and I will do everything I can for your boy. Now if you'll excuse me, I have other patients to tend to." She pushed passed him without waiting for a reply. Tam growled again.

It had been almost a month, following the Aes Sedai who had arrived at Emond's Field in the dead of night, pausing only to ask which one was the boy. They'd taken him, still unconscious from whatever it was he'd done to Dannil, over Tam's protests. He'd grabbed a bag and stuffed it with clothes, hard food that wouldn't spoil soon and coin, grabbed his bow and a quiver and ridden after them in haste.

And now that they were finally here, now that Rand had been gentled by these women, he was being told that he couldn't take his own son home. A 'traumatic period', she'd called it. By the light, how was staying in this place supposed to be _less_ traumatic than leaving?

Tam forced himself to breathe. A few more days, that was what she had said. Aes Sedai may be loathsome at times, but they could only speak the truth and, for now, seemed to have Rand's best interests at heart. For now.

* * *

Rand wandered around the courtyard aimlessly. He would have preferred to stay seated by the gardens, but one of the girls in a white dress with a number of colours at the hem and cuffs had told him, not unkindly, that it was best for him to walk about once in a while. He didn't really want to, but he wanted to be left alone more, so he had gotten off his seat and done as he was asked.

He stopped abruptly. He could hear a faint clacking sound to the side of the path, like lengths wood being slapped together, but lighter. Some sort of Gleeman perhaps?

Mildly curious, and with nothing else to do, he turned off from the path into the trees, letting his ears guide him. The sound was stronger now, the clacking loud and without rhythm. Whatever it was, it wasn't music.

Soon he emerged onto a large expanse of bare ground, a large stretch across and twice as long. The earth was firm, almost rocky, and looked as stable as a wooden floor. Scattered around the edges of the area were wooden stands, some holding quarterstaves, others holding real weapons, but most holding curious lengths of wood bound together and shaped like swords.

Men stood all along the open ground, most stripped to the waist, squaring off against each other with the wooden swords in hand. Some flailed wildly, others moved as gracefully as if dancing at Bel Tine, but most seemed at a point somewhere between the two, moving fast but rigidly.

_Warders_ Rand thought, with actual interest. He'd heard the stories, fearsome warriors that fought the Blight and Darkfriends, yet were sworn to the service of Aes Sedai. He'd never understood that, why would great heroes serve the Tar Valon witches? The stories never offered much of an answer.

He watched the men fight with so much attention he never even noticed when one of the Warders, shaped like a block of stone, sidled up beside him.

"See something that interests you boy?" the heavy-set man asked with a raised eyebrow, gesturing with a pipe he held in his hand towards the swordsmen.

Rand took a step back, startled. "No... I..." he took a moment to gather his thoughts "I mean yes, I've just never seen Warders before". He tensed, waiting for the man to laugh at him.

The older man just nodded thoughtfully. "Not many come to Tar Valon without having first met an Aes Sedai" the man said finally "and that generally means having met a Warder".

He studied Rand's face, taking in his age and mood "You don't have the look of a city boy lad, are you a messenger, or sick?"

Rand felt his throat tighten and lowered his eyes. "No... I was... brought here to be... gentled" he said at last, with an effort. He felt a glimmer of hurt and fear stir within him, and waited to hear a shocked gasp, or a hurried excuse to leave.

Nothing happened.

When he looked back up he saw the man studying him with pity in his eyes. "Ahhh lad, how old are you?" he asked softly.

"Thirteen summers".

"Too young, by the light" he said with a shake of his head "Far too young".

Rand shifted on his feet nervously. The older man seemed nice enough, but he was still a stranger, and at the moment he wouldn't have wanted to discuss what had happened to him even with Tam.

Apparently realising he hadn't introduced himself, the man nodded companionably. "My name's Hammar, I'm in charge of training".

Rand hesitated before replying. "I'm Rand al'Thor".

There was a moment of silence while Hammar stared at him thoughtfully, chewing on the stem of his pipe. His eyes never left Rand's face.

"The uh... Warders, how are they recruited?" Rand asked, determined to shift the conversation away from what had happened to him.

Hammar took another long drag from his pipe, watching Rand thoughtfully. After exhaling, he nodded, as if confirming something to himself. "Well lad" he began "most of our Warders are former soldiers personally chosen by Aes Sedai, usually from the Borderlands, and then come here to hone their skills".

Rand considered that for a second. "And the younger ones?" he asked, gesturing towards a group of very young men scarcely older than himself.

Hammar smiled "We occasionally get a few adventurous lads who run away from home to play with swords. Most of the time we end up turning them over to the Tower Guard, but if they've got some talent, they sometimes manage to join our ranks."

Rand listened with interest. He didn't think much of the idea of serving women who... who did the sorts of things they had done to him, but he had listened to a lot of stories, and he _did_ like the swords.  
Hammar kept smiling, as if he knew what Rand was thinking. "Would you like to try your hand lad?" he asked.

Rand blinked in surprise, and then lowered his head in embarrassment. "I've... I've never used one before" he mumbled. He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of Warders.

Hammar snorted. "I never would have expected you to have, lad" he said wryly "but we train beginners as well as veterans here, and it's not exactly a rare occurrence".

Rand hesitated again. _Swords and Warders!_ He thought to himself. _Just like the stories_.

He nodded sharply before he'd change his mind and lose his nerve. "I'd like that" he said as evenly as he could. "At least for as long as I'm here" he added, remembering the tower was full of Aes Sedai.

Hammar inclined his head politely. "Fetch us both a wooden sword from the rack then lad" he said, snuffing out his pipe and rolling up his sleeves "and we'll see how well you take".

* * *

"Can I _please_ see him now" Tam asked impatiently.

Ananda Sedai grudgingly nodded. "But you must not disturb him too much" she added sternly "he has very little energy, and exciting him too much could be harmful".

She led him through the corridor that presumably led to the sick quarters. Tam strode alongside her, his mind awhirl with questions.

"I thought Gentled men were supposed to remain active?" Tam remarked "That was what the Accepted girls told me". Along with all manner of patronising suggestions about Rand's health and intrusive questions about his strange hair and eye colouration, but he didn't think the Aes Sedai needed to know that.

Ananda's sniff of disdain conveyed an appropriate level of disregard for his medical knowledge. "Gentling removes a great deal of a person's will to go on living" she began to reluctantly explain "Very little continues to interest them – old hobbies and vocations are often associated with the life they led before being Gentled, and normally they either forsake them in favour of new ones or take their own lives".

They passed from the corridor into a large tree-covered courtyard outside.

Tam felt a chill at her words, and it wasn't due to the wind or climate. What kind of monster could discuss Rand's condition so matter-of-factly? Light, this was his _son_!

"This deteriorating interest in activity leads to a wasting body mass and loss of vitality" she continued lecturing absently "To combat this, patients must be fed well and lightly exercised, but not too heavily – over-exertion can result in injury or great weariness, which then leads to more inactivity and even greater- oh, here we are".

They came to a halt at a large stretch of earth, framed by trees, where men and boys practiced with wooden training swords.

_Mock battlefield or training ground_ an old part of Tam thought distantly _and Warders_.

About to ask the Aes Sedai why she'd brought him here, Tam opened his mouth, and then caught sight of a shock of red hair among the swordsmen.

_Rand._

The lad moved amongst the group under the direction of a large blocky Warder with a pipe. He moved a bit unsteadily, trying to follow the teacher's demonstrations of a strike or parry.

"So this is what you meant by 'light exercise'" Tam commented.

Ananda nodded, watching the students "He has weeks to go, at the least, before he can do anything more strenuous, but so long as he is only fighting empty air this works very well". She looked at Tam out of the corner of her eye "Hammar Gaidin" she said, gesturing to Rand's blocky teacher "Tells me that your son is a natural, considering his condition".

Tam remained silent, watching his son steadily ape his graceful teacher, but he could tell the Warder was correct. Before they had come to Tar Valon, he knew for a fact that Rand had never seen a sword before except in books and sheathed scabbards on the hips' of caravan-guards. He knew his son had never handled one before.

And yet Rand stood focused, a blade with both hands, in an easy stance. When he moved, he showed clumsy footwork and weak form, but he must have had only a few days instruction, and he was undoubtedly still exhausted from his Gentling.

_It's unnatural_ Tam thought to himself as he saw Rand demonstrate a slow, but fair example of an overhead strike. Inborn talent only went so far. How many of the Companions had been born with a talent for the blade, and how long had it _still_ taken them? _Years._

_He comes from a strong people_ that distant part of his mind reminded him. _Who are you to say what is natural for him?_

He remembered for a moment flashes of a bloody, strawberry-blonde woman dead in snow, a child at her feet. A woman who had gone in battle _pregnant_, if her recently-used spears and recently-born son were any indication.

Tam abruptly became aware of Ananda Sedai studying his face shrewdly.

"In your opinion Aes Sedai" he asked suddenly "would my son be ready to safely go home tomorrow, if I took care not to over-exert him?"

Ananda frowned. "Well, yes" she admitted irritably, unable to wriggle out of such a straight-forward question "but it would be smarter and safer by far to wait. Your child has shown great aptitude and interest in swordsmanship, and such pursuits are extremely bene-"

"Thank you for your care then Aes Sedai" Tam answered impassively, cutting her off before she could launch into a lecture "But I am a former soldier myself, and can teach my son as well as your Warders. We will leave tomorrow morning."

He didn't look back at the furious healer, no longer bothering with undeserved civility.

He started towards Rand slowly; fixing his face into what he hoped was a comforting expression. He could care for his own child just as well as, if not better than, the women who had done this to him.

* * *

The trip back to Emond's Field was, in a way, both more tiring and tedious than almost anyone would have likely thought.

Rand needed to be almost bullied every few hours before he would reluctantly hop off the back of the wagon and walk around to get the exercise he needed. Yet conversation for any other purpose than the bare necessities was completely absent.

So anxious were they to get home, that apart from a quick stop in Whitebridge for Tam to buy something or other, they stopped moving only for eating, sleeping and resting the horses, which they tried to combine as often as possible to speed the journey.

They each had an odd feeling that they couldn't talk about what had happened until they had reached the safety and comfort of the Two Rivers.

When they finally reached home, scarcely had they settled when Tam asked Rand to come back outside with him.

Rand followed gingerly. His father stood with a wrapped bundle in his hands.

"I have something for you" Tam said, to break the silence between them. He cleared his throat before continuing "The Aes Sedai told me that it helps for... Gentled men to have an outlet for their emotions, a focus through which they can anchor themselves".

Rand nodded slowly, more to show that he was listening than because he understood.

Tam tossed back the cloth covering his package. Beneath lay two dark, wooden swords, shaped like the ones he had handled in his stay at the White Tower, but of different materials. Where the Warder's training swords had been composed of strips of a strangle flexible wood bound together to form a hollow 'blade', these wooden swords were more solid, seemingly carved entirely out of heavier materials, perhaps oak.

"Hammar Gaidin told me before you left" Tam said quietly to Rand "that you had as much talent with a sword as many man that he's ever taught. He advised me to find you a teacher to continue the training he gave you."

Rand tore his gaze away from the wooden swords, meeting Tam's eyes curiously. "Where will we find anyone for that in Emond's Field?" Rand asked, bewildered "will we have to move?"

His father smiled slightly. "No Rand, we already have one. I think it's about time I told you what happened to me when I left the Two Rivers."


End file.
